Secrets Of Bella Terra by Christina Dodd Read Free Book Online Page A

heart, his memories, his . . .
Damn it.
At his groin.
    He needed to get this mystery solved, and soon, so he could clear out.
    At his lack of response, her pleasure faded and she got out to stand beside the car.
    He got out, too, and listened. It was quiet up here. A light breeze ruffled the leaves on the trees and brought the scent of spring from the orchards and vineyards. Nonna was a sharp old lady. If it had been this quiet up here that day, she would have heard an accomplice moving around outside. So probably there was the one guy in the cellar.
    Rafe looked up and down the driveway, then up at the house. At the steep steps, clean of any betraying footprints. At the wide covered porch with the swing that hung from chains from the ceiling, Nonna’s rocking chair and table beside it, the hanging baskets filled with fluorescent orange impatiens. He gazed thoughtfully at the tall blue-flowered hydrangeas that flourished on either side of the steps and down the sides of the house.
    “I don’t see anything,” Brooke said.
    He walked into the flower bed, pushed aside first one hydrangea, then another, until he found what he was looking for. “Here.” He pointed at the track of the single wide tire. “Did DuPey note this? That the perp arrived by motorcycle and hid it in the bushes?”
    “No.” Brooke looked at Rafe with a renewed respect.
    Stupid to want to preen.
    Plunging deeper into the foliage, he found the marks made by shoes with a distinctive tread, and came out satisfied that he’d made a start. He headed up the steps—listening to them creak, he made a note to replace and paint them while he was here—and onto the porch.
    Brooke followed.
    Up here, everything looked routine, including the condition of the lock on the front door. There were no scratches, no sign of forced entry. As he knew and his brothers had said, if the intruder had come from this direction, he’d have walked right in.
    Rafe unsuccessfully tried the door. At least now it was locked.
    Gazing out over the yard, over the valley, he saw the familiar vista and yet . . . how different things were now, knowing as he did that somewhere out there, a predator lurked and, perhaps, a plot to harm his grandmother. Why, he didn’t yet understand. But he would. He would.
    “If you don’t have the keys, I do.” Brooke fished them out of her purse.
    Well, of course she did. In the years since he’d lived in Bella Terra, Brooke had received the key to every Di Luca lock.
    Opening the door, she gestured for him to precede her.
    He entered the house, and stopped just inside to listen and observe.
    The dim hallway went straight back to the kitchen. To the left, a wide arch opened into the old-fashioned parlor complete with crocheted doilies on the arms of the chairs and the couch, and . . . “When did Nonna get a flat-screen TV?” he asked.
    “When she realized she could watch football in HD.”
    “Of course.” His Nonna had always been an outstanding athlete, as competitive in badminton as she was in softball, and that translated to a fierce love of pro sports.
    Brooke smiled fondly at the massive television that covered most of the wall over the fireplace. “She’s into Australian football now.”
    “What’s so great about Australian football?”
    “She says it’s faster, more exciting, and since the guys don’t wear pads, she can really see their tushies.”
    Rafe rounded on Brooke.
    She held up her hands. “Hey, I’m just repeating what she said.”
    Women
. He turned back to his examination of the room.
    “But she’s right,” Brooke said reflectively.
    “You’ve been up here to watch with her?” He kept his tone noncommittal.
    “Yes. It’s fun. I bring hors d’oeuvres, she serves champagne, and we shout at the TV.”
    “Aren’t hors d’oeuvres and champagne contrary to the spirit of Australian football?”
    “Probably. Does that kind of nefarious activity make me even more of a suspect?”
    He fully faced her.